The Independent Stitch

Shepherd's Harvest Festival 2012, in Minnesota

Weekend before last, both authors of The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook—Carol Ekarius and I—flew to Minnesota for the Shepherd's Harvest Festival, which was celebrating its 15th year. It's a lovely event, held at the Washington County Fairgrounds in Lake Elmo, east of the Twin Cities but easy to reach from the metropolitan area. This gathering has many of the attributes of the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival although on a smaller and more intimate scale.

They've got music. This is Paul Imholte, who's an amazing multi-instrumentalist.

I first encountered Paul and his music when Shelley Hermanson and I were judging the skein contest. Before he began to play, Paul came over to ask if it would be okay for him to set up nearby. I really appreciated being asked, because judging requires both concentration and, in this case, conversation between the judges, but we took a quick look at him and his instruments, took a mental leap, and said "No problem!" So we got to listen while we worked. It was a good choice.

That beautifully built cart in the background stores and transports Paul's instruments and CDs. It's a very efficient and versatile set-up. We got to enjoy his music at several other locations. Sometimes there were 20 or 30 people standing around tapping their feet or dancing in place. In the case of the photo above (which I took while we were doing one of our two book signings), a young fellow was learning what to do when the music won't let you stand still.

According to the program, there were other musicians. But because of where and how I was working, I didn't happen to hear any of the others. 

There was shopping—several barns full. I'm highlighting Bleating Heart Haven for two reasons: one was that they were selling their own fiber in a very constructive way. . . .

The other is that their yarns were clearly labeled as to fiber components (specific fiber types, at the breed or grade level). As large and shiny as the labels were, they didn't interfere with shoppers' ability to look at and evaluate the skeins, which were lovely.

Bleating Heart Haven does a great job of farm-to-finished processing, design, and marketing of its fiber. It was so easy to browse and know what I was looking at! Bleating Heart Haven has a variety of types of animals producing their fibers. Even booths with single-source fibers could benefit from clear labeling of their breed-specific and home-grown yarns. Usually I have to hunt for the presence and identity of the yarns I'm most interested in.

The animals were over in another set of barns. The shepherds and farmers were on site to educate the public, sell wool or stock, and otherwise be ambassadors for their breeds. Here's a young Horned Dorset lamb with a shepherd who had interested onlookers—with good reason—every time I passed by.

The barns were stroller- and wheelchair-accessible, as were the animals.

The weather for the weekend was perfect, and there were plenty of visitors to the festival, but it never felt crowded.

Some of the sheep went on walkabouts to look at the people. Sometimes they got to go outside and enjoy the grass.

(Yes, there was a booth with lefse. I didn't have time to try it and compare it to our family's versions. It's true, I'm pretty spoiled by our family's versions, and when I read other recipes, I tend to think, "They're making it too complicated, too rich, too . . . not perfect." Norwegians can be very opinionated about their lefse.)

Other sheep helped demonstrate what rooing is (collecting wool as it naturally sheds: shears are used only on bits that haven't quite loosened up enough, and the rest is just hand-gathered). The folks below represented the Fine Fleece Shetland Sheep Association. That young sheep was experiencing her first rooing. She was very calm about it all. I think she was ready for her summer wardrobe.

What's funny in that picture is the way the sheep fits (or doesn't fit) a standard grooming (or fitting) stand, any more than her "shearing" process fits the usual trimming technique used for sheep being shown in competition. That vertical structure at the left in the photo is usually used to support the sheep's head while it's being groomed, so it won't jump off the stand or get its ears nicked by the shears. This little one just needed a halter tied to the post to make sure she stayed safe. But all of the sheep I saw at this show were calm because the whole event was so low-key.

Carol wanted to take home Babydoll Southdowns.

Note the size (the bandanna will give you scale).

For comparison, here's a regular Southdown whose picture I took at the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival the previous weekend, over waist-high on the person leading it. This bigger Southdown was trimmed for show on one of the stands like the Shetland above is standing on, but its head likely fit in the brace.

Another barn was packed with llamas (both regular and the long-fleece suris). . . .

. . . and alpacas (both huacaya and suri).

One large stall contained baskets of more than a dozen types of fiber for people to look at closely and even touch. The photo shows just one section.

It wasn't fancy, but it was very smart to do and interesting. People enjoyed the ability to compare side-by-side a number of different types of fibers.

And then there was me and Carol.

We presented three programs, all as slide-talks. We both have ties to Minnesota and were glad to be part of the event. Our Saturday evening talk (where this photo was taken: thanks, Sarah Jane!) was about how we wrote the book. Then on Sunday we gave one talk for people who want to use different types of fibers and another for people who want to grow and sell fibers to folks like us.

Here's the weird thing. While Carol and I both live in Colorado (and have also lived in Minnesota), our homes are about four hours apart. We haven't seen each other in person since the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival last year. We met up at the airport to fly to Shepherd's Harvest, boarded the plane, found our seats, and Carol mentioned she'd brought her knitting. I asked to see it, and she pulled it out.

"Wait a minute," I said. "BFL?" (Bluefaced Leicester)

It was. She's making her mother a shawl from worsted-weight yarn.

"Where from?"

She pulled out the tag: Lisa Souza Knitwear and Dyeworks.

"WAIT just a minute." I pulled out my knitting. "BFL. Lisa Souza. SOCK weight."

We're both working wool from the same sheep breed. Obtained from the same source, and the same small-scale dyer. We're even working with the same hand-dyed color: Forbidden City.

This was NOT planned.

What are the chances?

And that's how the visit to Shepherd's Harvest went: serendipitously well.

Seattle downtown on a Sunday, not where I planned to be

This is a total digression. I have more wool posts, but on a Skype call with my daughter last night I mentioned the drive I took yesterday from SeaTac through Seattle, and she wants to see photos.

I flew in (my mother's ill), arriving an hour late because our plane was delayed to permit people coming from the east through a thunderstorm to make their connections. Picked up the rental car and called my brother-in-law to let the family know I was on my way to their house. He mentioned that the highway 99 viaduct is closed this weekend for construction, and the only option for the southern part of my trip would be I-5, and that it would be crowded. He mentioned that getting off the freeway when possible and taking 4th Avenue through downtown would be a potentially good alternative.

I know Seattle somewhat, because I lived here 40 years ago and took the buses back and forth between Lake City (way north), downtown, and my classes at the University of Washington. Things have changed a little between then and now, and I have never done much driving in this city. I did have a map (not very detailed) from the car-rental agency. (I forgot to bring a better map, and I'm not sure it would have helped.)

The freeway became a large-scale parking lot beginning about 2 miles south of downtown, so I edged over and exited at something called Martinez. It appeared to be willing to connect to 4th Avenue, but that didn't work out: I could SEE two lanes of access to 4th Avenue, but the elevated highway segment I was on wouldn't let me get to them. I headed north and attempted to find 4th Avenue by driving around some stadiums (post-1970s construction) and ended up on 1st Avenue South, where some event was going on involving teams of people running through the streets wearing costumes or at least matching t-shirts. I think beer may have been involved. There were a LOT of teams: hundreds of people. One team had Viking-style horned helmets and armor that I think was made of Rainier beer cans.

I ended up progressing slowly through Pioneer Square (my first, four-week weaving class, in 1971, was in a second-floor space in Pioneer Square; I transported my rented Pioneer table loom there on the number 7 bus from Lake City). I decided to delay my attempts at finding 4th Avenue for a few blocks because I wasn't sure I could access it from the clutter of streets around Pioneer Square.

I figured out that the people I was seeing darting in and out of traffic were likely participating in a large-scale scavenger hunt. Reason? MANY people running in front of my car when traffic slowed to a stop (every 5 feet or so) to get their pictures taken with the license plate of the car in front of me.

The car from California had cut me off when I was attempting to merge onto some more-major street from the narrow alley near one of the stadiums (stadia?) that I'd inadvertently gotten onto while looking for a way to get to 4th. At this point, I became glad that the California driver hadn't let me in, and that the more generous driver following it had, because being behind that car made my travel across lower downtown Seattle a lot more interesting than it would have been otherwise.

Note the "construction ahead" sign. This was also a theme of the day. And more frequent than the photos indicate. I only snapped pictures when I was not moving.

The construction was not minor.

Nor was the event.

When people were not running in front of my car, this is what they were doing:

I headed up the hill, still seeking 4th Avenue (lots of one-way streets to figure out, with more construction, undocumented because my car was actually moving).

I did find 4th Avenue. My connection to wherever I went next involved going down a street that my map, also studied when I was fully stopped, suggested was the connector (Battery). Once I turned onto it, the two lanes (out of three) that went where I needed to go were clearly marked BUS ONLY, but (1) I couldn't see how else to get there and (2) lots of other cars were using the BUS ONLY lanes. So I followed them.

Whew. I decided to park the car and walk as much as possible for the rest of the day. But my journey was a whole lot more interesting than I-5 was!

While walking back from visiting my mother, here's a bridge I waited to cross:

I am undoubtedly not the first person to think this looks like a TARDIS:

(There are actually four of them on the Fremont bridge.)

Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival 2012

I'm so far behind on blogging that I'll never catch up, so here's an overview of this year's wonderful Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. I taught a two-day workshop on rare wools, participated in as much of the book signing as I could get to, and facilitated two walkabout classes in the barns, which was a new event and a lot of crazy fun.

Here's everybody except the photographer (and me; I'm organizing things off to the left) concentrating on a new fiber. (Thanks, Nancy, for taking pictures while I was all-out focused on teaching!)

One of the biggest reasons that I love teaching is the great people I get to meet. And that's a roomful of them.

And here are the fibers at the start of the workshop:

We worked our way through them over two days. Our selection for this workshop included:

• Black Welsh Mountain
• Clun Forest
• Dorset Horn
• Gulf Coast Native
• Jacob (American)
• Leicester Longwool
• Navajo-Churro
• North Ronaldsay
• Oxford
• Romeldale/CVM
• Santa Cruz
• Shetland
• Wensleydale

. . . and, courtesy of BitsyKnits, a sampling of Sharlea, which is a rare wool although not from a rare breed (it's specially grown and prepared Saxon Merino).

Thanks once again to The Spinning Loft and Spirit Trail Fiberworks for making these workshops possible. There's no way I could acquire, wash, and prepare all the fibers myself. I do some of that work: The Spinning Loft does most of it, with essential contributions from Spirit Trail.

On several of the evenings, after we had finished teaching, Maggie Casey and I were lucky enough to walk around the lake near the hotel. (I was looking for a photo of Maggie, but we'll have to settle for a selection of her DVDs and her book.)

The barn walkabouts on Saturday and Sunday mornings were amazing. Registration was limited to a small group so we could move with relative compactness through the barns and talk about wools in connection with the sheep that grow them. We only had time to do barn 8: and it was a full three hours! There was a lot of variety in breeds and many topics to consider. The walkabout description said we'd cover between 10 and 12 breeds. Because they were there, we saw and talked about more than 25!

On Sunday, I juggled myself back and forth between the walkabout, the book signing, and the Parade of Breeds, which is my favorite event at the festival. Here's a Border Cheviot (in front) and a Border Leicester (behind):

My favorite Shetland ram was there again, once again charming everyone within viewing distance. This year he had been shorn before the festival—many more of the sheep were in their summer wear this year than usual. The dogwoods and azaleas had also passed their bloom-time (climate change affecting shearing, as well as blossoms?).

Sue Blacker and Douglas Bence of Blacker Designs and Blacker Yarn in the UK attended the festival and gave a presentation on the value-added work they do to increase shepherds' and farmers' income from the fiber their animals grow. One of the things they have done recently is work with some wonderful, visionary people to produce what is likely the first commercially spun Boreray yarn, and here's a ball of it!

Boreray is a rare breed of sheep from the same small set of islands, called St Kilda, that are home to the Soay. This Boreray yarn is one of two that the Blacker mill is producing. The other will be a blend of finer Boreray fleeces, hand selected, with Soay wool, as a St Kilda laceweight. I can't tell you how exciting this is. It's one of the fantastic ideas that grew out of the odd experience that was UK Knit Camp in 2010.

What with teaching, book signing, and a few wonderful meetings, I finally got to walk around the festival for a short while at the end of Sunday. I spent most of that time taking pictures of sheep. And this Karakul sheep from Redgate Farm looked exactly like I felt at that point:

So it was time to call the festival a huge success and wonderful time, and to go home.

At least for a few days.

Holidays

The year-turning holidays are always a bit disjointed for me. Here are a few tidbits from recent travels.

First, an art assemblage I saw being constructed at Denver International Airport a while ago. It is ephemeral, as is its topic, and it will be going away. I'll miss it.

It extends through both sides of one of the arched bridges between the terminals and consists of 10,000 paper cranes constructed from an unpublished manuscript, along with similarly sized crystals. Called "Shadow Happy," it is by Brianna Martray.

DIA's copy of the artist's statement is here. There are many more photos on the artist's site, as well as a link to a YouTube video (about 11 minutes long) about the installation, which I'm so glad to have had the opportunity to see part of. I flew in and out of DIA a number of times during construction, guessing at and then having revealed the reasons behind the blue-tape markings throughout the passageway.

"Shadow Happy" will be in place through February 2012 along the walkway from the main terminal to the A concourse.

______

Because of our travel plans, I wasn't able to be in Salida, Colorado, for the winter solstice celebration of the life of my friend Richard Cabe, who left this plane of existence on November 27. Richard, who was among other things a sculptor who saw rocks as "ambassadors of the earth," worked in a way that was as elemental as, although dramatically different from, the vision in "Shadow Happy." (That last link contains a couple of pictures of Richard shaping granite, and a mention of a scholarship in his name to support other artists.)

In our luggage, my daughter and I carried with us some of the materials to make luminarias in Richard's honor, linking the memory of his life to another part of the globe that was important to him, the one we were traveling to, the Pacific Northwest. My sister and brother-in-law had on hand the other items we needed.

It was, fortunately, not raining. Beanie the cat supervised, as did the heron my sister received as a gift one Christmas.

The luminarias burned a long time (except the two that Beanie knocked off the deck rail).

____

Speaking of Beanie, she helped wrap presents:

. . . and got into my luggage and retrieved (and claimed) a plastic-wrapped fish knitted by my friend Jodie Aves. She liked it even better after we took the ripped plastic bag off.

It seemed to make her very happy.

____

The family gathering lasted close to a week and involved our two 87-year-olds, plus honorary long-time family members (I'm not sure what J. is doing with my aunt's cane, but neither she nor Mom looks worried) . . . .

. . . and, for the first time, one of the younger generation participating by video chat from across the country.

I spent a lot of time doing preliminary sorting of family photos and artifacts from the boxes we packed when we moved Mom to an apartment a couple of years ago.

That's just the start of one section of the 1940s material, which included about 200 photos Dad took in China/Burma/India.

____

We were home in time to pick up the dogs from the kennel on New Year's Eve, although I drove the backroads to get there because of the high winds—the interstate is exposed for most of its length. I learned later that it had been closed altogether for a couple of hours that morning. Our trip was uneventful, although the winds had also knocked out traffic signals along our route, and it was good to have the two-legged and four-legged household reunited.

A quiet evening was topped off by neighborhood fireworks (the official city ones had been cancelled because of the weather), which gave Ceilidh an opportunity to demonstrate exactly how small a corner a dog of her size can fit into.

I think her perception is accurate that there is safety in the vicinity of a spinning wheel, a ukulele (the black case along the bottom), and a supply of dog food (the white container).

____

We also played Settlers of Catan on several evenings, as well as one round of Carcassonne, and my daughter and I got my mother and a friend of hers past their stuck spot on one of their jigsaw puzzles. I also managed to get almost all of the yarn samples prepared for teaching at Madrona, but that's a story for another day.

____

May 2012 bring us all lots of friend-visiting time, good conversations, rewarding work and discoveries, and restorative play.

___

Edited to add another "we're home" photo, actually the one that started me writing the post. I looked down this morning and saw this, which amused me a great deal:

It's obviously an indicator that I'm in a familiar environment.

Happy new year again.

It's all happening at the zoo. . . . part 2

One of the things I especially liked about the Sedgwick County Zoo, in Wichita, Kansas, is its dedication to both wild and domesticated animals. Too often the efforts to conserve one ecosystem come at the expense of another.

Not so here. I covered one aspect of this story in part 1, where I showed some elements of my visit to the American, African, and Asian farm areas. These diverse and educational collections support conservation of rare livestock breeds, while allowing human/animal interactions that respect the animals' need for appropriate protection and "alone" (or else "with my own kind but not so many people") time.

On my next foray into the zoo grounds, I kept going straight past the entrance to the farm section and soon found myself with this view:

Oh!

I don't have a fancy camera. I have a Canon A540. It has a little zoom on it, but it pretty much captures what I'm looking at just standing there in the world, with no assistance from specialized viewing tools like telephoto lenses.

That bear was THERE! Grizzly, too. The black bears, the kind where I live, were a bit farther along the trail. I haven't spent a lot of time in zoos in recent years, but during the visits that I have made there was nowhere near the sense of immediacy in how I saw this bear. And the experience continued through the rest of my visits (I managed several over the three days of the ALBC annual meeting).

I simply wandered. I didn't make a comprehensive tour of the zoo. I wanted to be outside, and that was a priority in how I rambled.

So I saw the river otters, while they were being fed.

The glass got in the way of a good photo here (reflections, plus lots of splashing of water on its inside surface). The zookeeper was making the otters work for their food: hiding it in the tree-like structures, throwing it in the water, and so on. The several otters seemed to enjoy the game. It was what I think watching pro soccer might be like (we don't have much television reception, and I don't sit still long enough to watch many broadcast sporting events . . . even with knitting in hand).

Farther along, there's a bridge over a waterway (boats operate in warmer seasons) that also let me look down into the habitat where the Mexican wolves live.

The zoo has had a litter of wolf pups, one of whom was released into the wild in the Southwest and formed a pack.

There were other fiber suppliers in this area: the bison.

Because it was fall and a mellow sort of day, most of the animals seemed relaxed (except the otters: I'm not sure they ever relax, except when they're sleeping).

A photo on the zoo's site of the cougars, which looks almost identical to this picture that I took, suggests that these cats get along with each other really well. (The photo I'm referring to isn't the one on the zoo's cougar information page, although that one caught them cozied up, too.)

We have these critters in the wild where I live, although we call them mountain lions. They are a reason to know how to behave when hiking or running in mountain lion country, and a reason not to leave children, house cats, or medium-to-small dogs outside alone. I love that these big cats live in the Rocky Mountains, yet I'd just as soon not meet one when I'm out for a walk. (Notes: Pick up a rock to throw as a defensive tactic before you think you might see a cat; if you wait for the need to arise, it'll be too late. Or carry a hiking stick. The point is to look BIGGER than you are, and not to either back away or run.) I am concerned that we humans are severely reducing these animals' natural habitat by building houses on top of their invisible-to-us homes. That practice significantly increases cat/human conflicts, and then we blame them!

Next I watched the meerkats for a while. They have complex social structures that the zookeepers need to pay close attention to. There are currently two separate meerkat communities at this zoo and never the twain shall mix, although the groups can see each other through the glass barriers that keep everything relatively calm.

While I enjoyed the proximity to the animals the zoo provides, I also appreciated the educational material that is incorporated into the exhibits that reminds people that they are wild animals.

In the early morning, the African wild dogs avidly attacked their food.

When I went by later in the day, they were napping in the shade.

This is a lion CUB, born at the zoo not all that long ago. Yes, I was about two feet away and we were both pretty relaxed, although I was only relaxed because of the structural intervention.

Earlier I'd watched this young one working on a meal.

In this next picture, the woman with the camera is standing almost exactly where I was when I took the first cub photo. Makes one feel a whole lot like prey. The small (?) one's parents also live in this section of the zoo. The lioness is apparently the one with the most serious attitude issues, which she arrived here with. She's apparently mellowed somewhat, although I wouldn't want to count on that. The zookeepers sure don't.

The Malayan tiger . . . well, this guy looked even more imposing than the lions, if that's possible. And, according to the zoo keepers, he's even more of a force to be reckoned with. And that's saying a lot.

Visiting with the giraffes was much less edgy.

The cool, fall weather meant that the zoo was relatively quiet and all the animals seemed content and most were almost on vacation: alert, but not showing off.

This red panda could have withdrawn inside its shelter more thoroughly, but I think it was enjoying a time when it could keep an eye on the world while also having a rest.

Those of us participating in the ALBC conference were offered the opportunity to take some behind-the-scenes tours. I signed up for a couple on Sunday morning before starting the drive home.

The elephants, both about 40 years old, are Cinda and Stephanie. This is Cinda, who got to be the one who interacted with us. Stephanie, the dominant (although smaller) elephant, had been able to show off for the previous group.

I got to feed Cinda several times, and to stroke her side. She has amazing skin! The elephants have several hours a day of school, with operant conditioning (for those of us more familiar with dogs, this is clicker training, although Cinda responds more to verbal praise, and food treats, than to clicks). The training has several purposes, including intellectual stimulation, exercise, and patterning of behaviors that are useful in veterinary care. Some of the activities are just plain fun for elephant and human alike. (That's Stephanie in the background, sulking just a bit because she's not the focus of attention.)

As part of our tour, we met one critter who is not on display because of health concerns. This antelope-type creature is one of the last of his kind, and there will be no more. The population levels have dropped too low, and attempts to keep the species going through zoo-based breeding have resulted in young with serious genetic problems, especially heart defects. Further efforts are being abandoned. It was sobering to be face-to-face with a living being that represents the last step before extinction. I was stunned enough that I missed the animal's name and forgot to ask, and because we were in a private area there were no signs to help me out.

Just after the elephants, however, we had met (and fed banana chunks, peels and all, to) Eugene, an Eastern black rhinoceros, another endangered species. My photo of Eugene is lousy. Eugene was a delight.

Having a black rhino eat out of my hand was amazing—even more than elephant feeding (which was unquestionably cool). These rhinos have prehensile upper lips. Eugene was delicate and precise in his acquisition of the banana sections.

Eugene is an old man—38 years—and retired, living out his days being pampered by the zoo keepers. His bones are achey, so thanks to a private donor he now has a rubberized floor in his area. He has contributed to the continuation of his species and his offspring are now at a number of different locations. I was impressed with the amount of knowledge of animal behavior and care for the individual animals among the human cohort at the Sedgwick County Zoo.

That's one reason that they don't do operant conditioning with the Grevy's zebras, who look equine and familiar from the other side of the fence but are not predictable enough for close interaction to be a wise, safe idea for the humans.

After the tours, the earlier of which included the greenhouse and a glimpse of the veterinary facilities, both in areas where photos were not possible, I took a meandering path out of the grounds. It was a sleepy sort of day, as demonstrated by the ruddy shelducks. . . .

. . . and the bar-headed geese.

My trip to the zoo missed huge portions of it. I didn't see the primates, the amphibians and reptiles, the jungle area, the penguins, or the Australian or South American sections. In warmer seasons, as I mentioned above when I talked about the Mexican wolves, there's a boat that carries people across a lake; I think it runs from the North American area to the African exhibits. That sounds like fun.

On the other hand, because it was fall and cool, the place was relatively quiet. I had the wonderful and unusual treats of seeing behind-the-scenes areas and of feeding Cinda and Eugene, and learning more about this zoo's work on the conservation of wild species and of rare domesticated breeds of livestock.

I'm not sure when I'll be near Wichita again, but another trip to this zoo is something I look forward to.

It's all happening at the zoo. . . . part 1

A month ago, I drove to Wichita, Kansas, to present a session at the annual conference of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy (ALBC). My session was for people who are keeping rare-breed sheep on how to market their wool to spinners and other fiber folks. This is a part of the conservation equation that I've been envisioning for many years and we finally had an opportunity to put it together. Wow, is it fun to share ideas with people who either have, or intend to soon acquire, rare-breed sheep. I've done that before, with one flock at a time, but we had a bunch of folks together all at once. It was truly delightful.

The daytime events for the conference were held at the Sedgwick County Zoo, which is extremely active in the conservation not only of wild species but also of domesticated breeds of animals.

All participants in the conference were granted access to the zoo itself throughout the event, so during times when all the available sessions were about meat production (not my forte), I walked out the back door of the conference center and looked around.

Domesticated animals

There are three "farm" areas where the livestock conservancy activities are centered: the American farm, the Asian farm, and the African farm. They're called the "Children's Farms," but don't let that mislead you. There's serious business going on here. The format just makes the animals really accessible, so kids (human) can get acquainted with them. (The animals throughout the zoo have access to privacy, and in the case of the farm animals spend their "off hours" in a different set of spaces that are less structured. Not all animals are out where the public can see them.)

In that picture, those are Jacob (spotted) and Navajo-Churro sheep, in the American farm area. What an amazing opportunity for the rare sheep to get to know people, and vice versa!

Signage talks about the ALBC and the breeds' history and status.

There are something like 38 rare livestock breeds in these three farm areas. In addition to the Navajo-Churros (shown pretty clearly in the photo above), there are the American Jacobs, with a better photo here. . . .

. . . and Karakuls, in the Asian farm. . . .

. . . and American Tunis, located in the African farm area. I suspect the location decision occurred because, although the breed is 100% American, its roots began in north Africa. . . .

I also spotted this little goat in the African farm. I don't know what kind it is, other than exceptionally cute. I'll bet it's also mischievous. Goats are, in general, and then there's that extremely innocent look on this one's face. . . .

There are other fiber animals in the farms, including camels (although these are dromedaries, not the Bactrian camels that produce most camel down and hair):

. . . and yaks, over in Asia.

I don't have a fancy camera. Throughout this zoo, I found I had an amazing ability to get close enough for decent snapshots. The reconciliation of visitors' access and residents' privacy needs was masterfully accomplished through the design of the spaces.

Here are a few other ALBC-listed residents of the farm areas.

A Poitou donkey, outside, and what I'm thinking is an American Mammoth Jackstock, mostly inside. . . .

On the other side of the fence are American Cream horses, which are large draft horses. Yes, the equine population involves a lot of very large animals (also miniature donkeys, although I didn't get their picture taken).

There are also a number of types of cattle, including the Ancient White Park, which is horned (the American White Park, genetically quite different, is polled, or hornless).

I think this is a Japanese silkie chicken:

I don't think it's rare, but it is fun to see.

These photos just hint at who's hanging out in the farm areas. The zebus were astonishing.

I did wander off to see some of the "regular" zoo areas as well. I'll start another post for that section.

Gove City Yarns

So I was driving along I-70 eastbound, headed for the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy's annual meeting, looking for an excuse to get off the big highway and onto the two lanes, but arguing with myself that I needed to make tracks. I had some hope of getting to a place with free wifi for a phone conference that would be happening that afternoon, but this wasn't an essential phone conference and I wasn't at all sure where the free wifi might be available, although I'd researched both libraries and coffee shops that might be available at the correct times. (In case you ever need to know, the Salina, Kansas, library would apparently have let me come use their connection. The Wichita, Kansas, library wouldn't let me use it without a local library card.)

Yet my impatience with mile after mile of smooth, fast road ticked upward when I saw a billboard that advertised QUILT SHOP (with yarn), accessible from an upcoming exit. That didn't quite do the trick, because while I do like quilts and quilting, I already take on more than I can handle and I didn't need to open up yet another temptation that I'd have to say no to. Yarn was the subtext, not the focus. So I stayed on my steady course eastward. Yet not long after, another billboard offered YARN SHOP (with antiques or buttons, I forget which). The emphasis on YARN and the relatively short distance—10 miles—from the highway in a direction that would continue to take me toward Wichita, my required destination by the end of the day, created the necessary magnetic pull toward the ramp at exit 93 and highway 23, southbound toward Gove, Kansas.

It's a small town. Here's what the Gove City Yarns building looks like looking east from the west side of highway 23:

I had to watch my timing to get a vehicle into the picture. Mostly there wasn't much traffic. Here's the center of town, looking south down highway 23 from the corner right by the shop:

A truck! That's downtown metropolitan Gove City, and here's a view of 3rd Street, which runs just south of the shop and turns into county road 452 after a few blocks, as seen from where I parked my car:

No, it's not paved. It was obviously not an area of high-density population. (I learned later that the 2000 census reported 105 residents of Gove. The 2010 census counted 80 people.)

So what sort of yarn shop would I find?

WOW.

My first interesting observation involved the book section, right inside the front door, which included multiple copies of a large number of books, including the most recent publications from Interweave Press, both magazines and special issues.

That's only part of the publications section. Note the multiple copies of titles, neatly stacked (but recently perused) on both the racks and the shelves. More:

That issue of knit.wear on the table is brand-spanking new, as was the Jane Austen Knits in the previous image. Again, the shelves are packed with more-than-just-one of a lot of knitting publications. (The table was also loaded with unusual buttons. The place is a treasure-trove of exceptional buttons.)

Someone here is serious about knitting, and has a clientele that is, too.

There are a lot of rooms in that little building, and they are crammed with well-organized yarns. There's a room for wools and sock yarns, another room for acrylics and baby yarns. This is a small portion of the wool realm, of course my primary interest:

Yarns are carefully selected and not boring:

I even found a little bit of local roving (although spinning is not the shop's strength):

By this time the other customers were browsing happily elsewhere and I began talking with the shop's proprietor, Betty McDonald. I learned that she's had the shop since 2003, that it draws its clientele from a 100-mile radius (which is easy to believe for all sorts of reasons). There are no huge population centers within that 100-mile range, which looks like this and extends into eastern Colorado and southwestern Nebraska:

(The highlighter marks my routes to and from Wichita. I missed a turn in Great Bend on the way back—a hazard of being both driver and navigator—thus the odd dip to the south. Interstates are for when it's already dark out and I want to get to the location with the cheapest motel that has a decent rating before I quit driving for the night.)

I also learned that Betty endeavors to have a broad and deep selection, some portions of which, like the combination skeins shown below, are unique to the shop:

G.C.Y. is, of course, Gove City Yarn.

I asked if I could take Betty's picture, and she was a little hesitant because she was in her work clothes. The reason she was in her work clothes is that she and her husband, who rehabbed this formerly falling-down building and then filled it with yarn, are currently rehabbing another building that's a short distance from the back door so they can fill it with more yarn. "Work clothes" say to me "we're getting things done around here." As they obviously are.

The context is as thoughtful as the stock, with a great mural behind the desk.

Yes, there are also antiques, and quilt racks in the front room with beautifully selected and displayed old linens—crochet work, embroidery, and other treasures. Overall, it's an environment that simultaneously values past accomplishments and nurtures future creativity.

Gove City Yarns is a good reason to visit Kansas. I'm already looking forward to my next trip in that direction. I'll also look forward to visiting again with a former stray now named Casanova, who has never harmed a skein of yarn . . .

. . . and thus now has a permanent home.

It's true that I didn't get to the phone conference. But I didn't care at all.

On the road, on the road, on the road

That's where I've been. And then my laptop (my primary computer for everything except book design and layout) spent a week at the Apple store in Denver (quite far from home) going through diagnostics. I have an even longer than usual backlog of posts, but figured I'd get at least some random photos from the road out here to share.

On my birthday, I drove across South Park, in the Rocky Mountains, which is one of my favorite landscapes on earth although part of the reason it still looks like this is that it's a pretty challenging place to live. This is the view to the southwest across South Park, from the road up to Kenosha Pass.

On the way back through Denver on that trip, I stopped off at the 2 Million Dogs annual gathering, to support cancer research in canines and humans and the interactions between the two. (It took me a while to find the park, so I missed the march part of this year's event.)

I was home for a few days (do laundry and bills, restock the car with food, pack the materials needed for the next piece of the schedule) and then headed for Kansas. I traveled by way of Denver, which is, indeed, on the way, and so I was able to do some errands. I caught sight of this bush full of birds when I was stopped at a light on York Street.

I was on York Street all the way from north Denver to the center of the city because I managed to get off I-25 at the wrong exit. When I saw the birds, I was glad I'd taken the unplanned detour.

If life doesn't intervene too severely again, I'll have more to post about Kansas, but here's a view of one of the roads and the landscape.

That's just south of Gove, Kansas, and I have stories and pictures of Gove to share soon. Population reports vary between 60 and a few more than 100. Including a mighty fine yarn shop. Discovering it got me off the interstate, and I'm a much happier traveler when I'm not on the interstate (which has its uses, although enjoying the trip isn't usually one of them).

Here's a historic marker at the only rest stop between the exit that led to Gove and . . . well, I don't know between where and where, because it was the only rest stop I saw between exit 93 and Wichita. The stop was, as I recall, at the intersection of Kansas 23 and Kansas 156. The sign gives some information about Beersheba, the first Jewish agricultural colony in Kansas.

Traveling non-interstate roads gives a whole different picture of the surrounding territory. Even without much extra time or effort, bits of history pop up like this. I didn't have a clue before that Kansas is a location of major salt mines, which I passed on my way back west (also minimizing my time on the interstate, although by a different set of two-lane highways). Next time I come this way maybe I'll be able to take a tour of the underground museum.

I think I scribbled a note that the following display was on the west side of Mullinville, on highway 400. There was a lot more than I could get photos of: the lineup went around a corner and onto another road (this is looking west-northwest).

Here's a closer view of what parts of the folk art assemblage looked like:

I was, of course, running a little behind schedule, so I didn't have time to look closely at the items in the roadside show. And there were a LOT. I did pull over to take a couple of pictures and could see, even in my quick perusal, that some of the constructions are whimsical, while others feature political figures in strange ways. Later, I was able to locate information on the artist. He's M. T. Liggett, and he's controversial (not a surprise to discover): some of his imagery is charming and fanciful, some disturbing and potentially offensive (although an interview indicates that he doesn't see that latter component in what he's made).

This is definitely not the countryside seen from the interstate. And, while Kansas offers at most slightly rolling terrain and more frequently horizon-to-horizon-to-horizon-to-horizon unimpeded views, it's also potentially surprising. Especially if you get off the high-speed through-route.

Mini book tour, with slush

Last May, I began the process of scheduling a mini book tour this week. It's all set up and announced. It's "local," which means "in the same state that I live in." For a Westerner, quite a bit of ground can be covered by that definition.

Last night it started snowing (again), with a prediction for 6 or 7 (more) inches (12.5 to 14 cm). By morning, that much new white stuff was on the ground, and I was scheduled to drive 200 miles across some mountain passes that I know well enough to be very cautious about when the weather is bad. I've driven them in fog, sleet, rain, and snow—experiences I prefer to avoid, if possible.

After less than an ideal night's sleep, I optimistically dug out the car and cleared the driveway and sidewalks, poked at the tree branches again to knock off as much snow as I could, and then signed onto the excellent road-conditions website sponsored and maintained by the Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT). The CDOT map is most useful and gets updated frequently. Road conditions are color-coded, so it's really easy to see what the surfaces are like. There is, however, no topographical information, so "icy and flat" and "icy with 7% grade" look the same. This is where it's good to have experience with the roads you're considering.

I noted that parts of I-25 and I-70 were closed, although not the parts I planned to use. Highway 85 north of Greeley was black (adverse conditions = in my words "you'd be really stupid to drive this road right now"). Most of the roads I would need were bright blue (icy = "cars are going off the road and being wrapped in yellow caution tape until the weather clears and the tow trucks are less busy; expect to see on average one abandoned vehicle, many of them 4WD, every half mile").

Highway 285, a crucial part of my route, was decorated with at least a half-dozen of the red circle icons that mean "restriction." The detailed information on those locations indicated that trucks, and along some stretches smaller vehicles, were being required by law to use chains. The highway wasn't closed, but when chain laws are in effect wise people don't join the melee unless it's an emergency, they have a bit of extra time to spend, and their tires are in great shape. Maybe they even have chains (and use them) themselves. The two sections of road that can be particularly ugly to drive (although spectacularly beautiful) are Crow Hill and Kenosha Pass. Those were, of course, included in the restricted areas. So was Turkey Creek Canyon, which is sometimes a clear part of the road even when the rest is not so good.

There is an alternate route, taking I-25 farther south (bright blue/icy all the way) and then angling over toward Penrose and crossing Wilkerson Pass, instead of Kenosha. Wilkerson has less precipitous grades and doesn't have Crow Hill east of it. The roads through that area were a mix of bright blue (icy), blue (snow), and green (wet, rain, slush), and there were no restrictions in place.

Yet Kenosha is southwest-facing (it would get sun, if there was any) and the plows would be out. It's the shorter route. I know it better. So I waited a couple of hours, and the chain-law restrictions were lifted and more of the road became blue, and some of it even green. "Rain" and "slush" mean "the stuff's melting."

The familiar route won. And it was all fine.

Here are some Crow Hill photos:

There was some slush. This wasn't the worst of it. I was glad I'd bought, and installed, new front windshield wipers yesterday. (I got strong wiper blades: on a previous trip through this area, I'd had to find an auto parts store mid-journey and get sturdier ones.) I need to put a rear wiper blade into the budget for next month. The biggest difficulties occurred when the slush kicked up and instantly froze on the glass. The new wipers handled that just fine, though. (At times, I had about 10 square inches (65cm²) of back window free of ice.)

Kenosha Pass was dry and clear, with the usual view-to-almost-forever. You can't tell, though, that there are 14,000-foot (4250m) peaks out there because they're covered in clouds.

Toward the south end of South Park, the day got brighter, with some sunshine breaks coming through.

On the drive, I saw two splendid herds of pronghorn. There were about a dozen stunning ones standing in a cluster just north of the Buffalo Peaks turnoff. If there hadn't been a semi right behind me, I would have found a place to pull off (not much trustworthy shoulder today) and snapped a picture. There was a smaller group not far from Salida.

Tomorrow night, I'll be part of Dies Librorum (the day of books) at The Book Haven independent bookstore in Salida. RSVPs are required, and there will be music, a couple of authors, and good food. Oops, when I went to retrieve the link, I learned that the event is FULL! Well, that will be fun! I'll be interested in seeing who turns up. Party!

Anyway, you can see how nice the day was when I reached Salida in the late afternoon. Perfect.

On Saturday afternoon between 1 and 3, I'll be at Serendipity Yarn and GIfts in Buena Vista. Buena Vista is a few miles back toward home, and on my outbound trip today I took a side jaunt to pick up some yarn (because I didn't have enough, right?).

Liz Gipson will be at Serendipity on Saturday, too, and we'll likely be playing with fiber in the upstairs. There's a whole lot of yarn in that yellow house, and an amazing selection of gift items, too. No advance planning or RSVPs needed. If you're in the area, come visit with us. Bring your knitting or spinning or weaving (if it's portable, as Liz's often is) or your questions about fiber. We like to talk about fiber.

I have a spinning wheel with me, and a couple of deadlines to work toward while I'm doing this. However, I also plan to enjoy a little quiet time when I'm not at an event.

Like now.

____

Oh, two other things:

Today's Spinning Daily newsletter is called "Tools for Writing a (Rather Large) Fiber Book." It's about The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook, as regular readers of this blog might imagine.

And some folks have decided that this month is Wovember, not November, and are dedicating the time to raising people's awareness of how wonderful wool is. Yes! Natural fibers! There are great sheep photos on the website. I keep opening the page I linked to, seeing that Herdwick, and smiling. Thanks to Valerie for letting me know about this.

A good friend of mine would like me to remind folks that llamas also produce delightful, practical, and warm natural fiber. She's right.

And we can't forget the yaks, mohair and cashmere goats, musk oxen. . . . (See The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook for the remainder of the list I just started.)

____

Stay warm. I am.

The after-SOAR parade

On Sunday afternoon, as mentors and participants piled their luggage in the lobby, then onto carts, then into shuttles or car trunks, I finally ventured out of the hotel in Manchester, New Hampshire, to see where I was. I'd been out once previously, seeking dinner, but that was a directed venture and Gwen Steege, my editor at Storey Publishing, and I were talking, so I only got a rough idea of the streets we walked along.

This post-SOAR Sunday accommodated an exploration because my flight went out late in the afternoon. I did have a goal in mind: food. The restaurant at the hotel did have a good vegetarian option, but I wanted something different and with more protein. On the evening that I'd arrived, my daughter (with more energy than I could muster after travel) had done some internet searches on my behalf for places to eat (all turned out to be closed by then), so I had a place in mind. It was on the same street as the hotel. I began by walking in the wrong direction, which isn't typical for me and is one of many indicators I've had in the past week that my reserves have been a bit extra-depleted after the week of teaching: notes to self—eat well; sleep as much as you can; yes, you have to work, but go at it slowly and deliberately and do the things that come most easily.

After a couple of blocks, when I figured out that the street numbers were going down, rather than up, and that the neighborhood was looking less like a place that would have a restaurant in it (although you never know), I turned around and headed back toward, and past, the hotel. Odd: The street was blocked off with barricades, and there was a police car at the intersection by the park, with its lights flashing.

This in itself wasn't so unusual. The hotel room that Stephenie Gaustad and I shared had been on the eighth floor and at the front of the building. It was a nice view, and at almost any time of the night (we were teaching during the days), emergency lights flashed blue or red somewhere on the streets below. It was hard to tell whether they were responding to calls or just controlling traffic—for example, for the International Chili Society's World Championship Chili Cook-off, which happened in the park directly under our window on both days of the SOAR-prep weekend. (On that first Sunday, some SOAR-ready folks got out of the hotel to try a variety of chilis. I was sorting wool. I did chat in the elevators with several chili-cooking teams, and I also watched the uniformed teams march into the competition area on Sunday morning. LOTS of work for them that weekend, and it sounded like fun. Also very high-energy and a bit stressful.)

But back to the flashing lights on the following Sunday. As I walked farther down Elm Street, I noticed that people were standing along the curbs on both sides, as if they might be expecting . . . a parade. And then I heard sirens and saw more flashing lights on a police car coming toward me, lights ablaze. Oh, Columbus Day! And they must have a parade here! (Sometimes New England is just wonderful that way.)

I was definitely heading in the right direction for the restaurant my daughter had spotted online, and worried a bit that it would be swamped because of the parade, but decided that a parade was exactly what I needed just then.

I walked down Elm Street and found the restaurant, thinking I'd watch the parade from right out front and then retreat inside for some lunch. Plenty of people had shown up to view the procession, but there was lots of room along the sidewalks.

As it turned out, the parade consisted of high school marching bands (all very good) and FIRE TRUCKS! Fire trucks not only from New Hampshire but all several nearby states: I know I saw Maine and Massachusetts, am pretty sure about Vermont, and think there were some Connecticut and New York as well. Checking my photos doesn't help. Many engines have large labels for their towns, but their state identity was only readily visible on license plates (not so clear in the pictures).

Here are a couple of marching bands:

Some of the bands had people with cool-down equipment, watching carefully for signs of stress in the musicians.

The bands were all separated from each other by lots of fire trucks, with people of all ages riding in the trucks.

Some of the fire equipment was about the same age as I am:

And some was a good deal older:

That's 1852 fire equipment from Marblehead, Mass.

I grew up in an era of hood ornaments, and in a family where being able to recognize makes and models of cars and trucks was a plus, so it was fun to get a good shot of a nice Mack bulldog:

I have lots more photos of fire equipment. Only two of the pictures I took ended up out of focus. Two little boys near where I was standing were jumping up and down with excitement for the whole forty minutes it took the parade to pass. Everything that had a siren was blasting it (I had to put my fingers in my ears for part of the time), and there were friendly folk waving from the driver's and riders' seats.

The last truck in the line appeared to be driven by a dalmatian.

There was a real dog in the parade, too, up at the front.

Lunch at Republic? Flavorful, local, leisurely, and relatively quiet. Despite the potential collision of seasonings, I had North African spiced pickled vegetables (which woke up my taste buds effectively) and field mushroom bolognese (vegetarian style) with grilled polenta and whipped ricotta, plus some iced tea to temper the transition. Aahhh.

And then I went back to the Radisson lobby, so well sound-insulated that the people hanging out there hadn't even known there had been a siren- and marching-band parade that ended half a block away, and spent a relaxed two hours spinning, visiting, and waiting for the shuttle to the airport. Wind-down time.